Disability

just something i needed to write, I guess

Cold as the snow that

Chills the breath and bones;

Winter breath shrieking

Shrill across the stones:

That is the sound that

The paper makes in my hands;

A mocking few could know,

A title that few can hold,

That brings guilt

And anger

Cold as the pain that

Chills the breath and bones.

 

And even as it cuts me,

The paper knows I bleed

Different blood than those around,

Different blood than what I need.

 

It insults in its aid,

In its offer to help,

And it helps in its

Own vengeful need,

For I can only bleed

The right blood

When others are watching,

And I cannot help

From stopping

 

My screaming

Cold as the shriek that

Chills the breath and bones,

 

And I do not want their thrones;

I do not want their thrones that

Wither in golden misery,

 

For that—

That I cannot be,

Must be more than golden misery,

 

And hence these words

That slash the paper to bits:

                The paper that knows I bleed

                Different blood than what those around

                Say I need.

 

And hence these words that

Chill the breath and bones

With winter-victory,

No more with golden misery.